Keeping the Dark at Bay For Me
by KlausCarolineLover
Summary: Moriarty/OC, Sherlock/OC - Now a Series, hard at work on chapter four Moriarty's niece tries to help her uncle, with help from Sherlock, recover his sanity.
1. Chapter 1

"What presents have you brought me, Jim?"

Most of my colorful family, who like to point out that they are nowhere as messed up as I am (which I say thank you to), still judge my wacky ways.

Well, all of them expect for one uncle who I might have gotten most of my crazy from, Jim Moriarty.

Even I have been questioning how many marbles my dear uncle has left, despite the fact that he can hold it together for our monthly visits, and coming from me that is pretty bad.

(making that deduction after finding a wall of notepads filled with the name _Sherlock_ written in crayon)

"Well, dearie, presents always come with a hefty price tag, and yours is a bear hug."

It was a sight to see, a man decked out in the latest suit engulfing a girl with rainbow hair and lace up boots (most of which were presents from uncle dear). But the both of us know that Jim's insides were the same pitch black color as my freshly painted nails.

(and sometimes he would give us a few ghastly tales around the family table)

Out of the hand behind his back, one that I always expect to hold a knife one day with him you can never know when the breaking point will finally come ( and hopefully I will be the last to go), and pulled out a stuffed Invader Zim plushy.

(remembering the countless money I've wasted on the damn things)

"I might be way too old for this, Uncle Jim, but that doesn't mean I don't enjoy it."

After I gave him that giant embrace he was dying for, later finding out it was the only human contact he receives during week (besides his runs in with Sherlock), I took one look and knew that something was utterly wrong.

"Are you okay?"

(recalling all the hush hush meetings about what to do with crazy Jimmy and when they should start running)

"I have something else for you, buttercup, a very special item that I want to hold on for me."

In my open hand he dropped an ancient pocket watch, it was like he was giving me what was left of his old self (his last bit of morals) and his own damn heart, and it felt like the bitter end.

(his story was ending as mine was finally starting but I didn't want to go along without him)

"Your pocket watch, the one that your dad left you? I can't take this, Jim."

"Yes you can, Willow (his smile is breaking as he tries so damn hard to keep it all together), for me you will. Cover those cute little ears of yours if you hear bad things about your favorite uncle; don't let my uncontrollable actions shatter what you think of me, pet."

"What is about, Uncle, you're coming back, right?"

My voice broke as the thought of never seeing him crashed into me at full force, and it took every bit of self-control to not break down in tears.

"It's the end of my story, the final curtain will fall and I fear I won't be alive to see it, dearie. And you are the only puzzle piece I'll regret losing."

I could see the inner struggle in his eyes, the same ones that were just as wet as my own, trying to hold on to his last shred of sanity so he could say a proper goodbye.

(while I wondered if his Mr. Hyde would come back victorious at the end)

"Please don't go, for me."

I tried to keep his hands in mine, pulling him into yet another bear hug, hoping that if I held on tightly enough he would give up and stay with me.

(but those eyes of his told me the end was coming way too damn fast)

"If this doesn't end now, I fear it will get worse and I can't allow myself to ever harm you. I _will_ end up hurting you in unimaginable ways, my darling Willow, and I can't let that happen. The villain of the story does not get a crown, and he doesn't get a happy ending."

That damn watch felt like it weighted a million pounds as he pressed it deeper into my hands (something to remember him by when he's dead and gone), and before he left to face the end he kissed my forehead for the hundredth time.

(bringing me back to my childhood and playing hide and seek my utterly insane uncle in risky places)


	2. Alike In So Many Ways

"Willow Moriarty, my god you're the spitting image of him."

The look of utter shock on the great Sherlock Holmes face was something my uncle would have given the world to see (but he's a body now, nothing more), but only I get a front row seat.

I also get to know that everything my uncle did, his little play of chaos that ended in his brains on the pavement was for nothing.

(that next Sunday was filled with emptiness when I could have been giving him a bear hug)

"And you're not in the ground like my uncle, we're both shocked."

The media never stopped talking about the fraud detective and Richard Brook, so each day after our goodbye I saw his face everywhere I went, and I knew more would come once Sherlock came back to life.

(making sure to prove my uncle as the true fraud along the way)

"You do know that I was not the one who murdered him? He brought this all upon himself and killed himself before the end."

I had to close my eyes tight so the damn image of his nonexistent skull would push from my mind, only knowing it was him by the familiar scars (losing those eyes of his), but they seemed too fresh.

(marking it the day I started believing so hard that he was cleaver enough to fake it all)

"I know I was the only one in my damn family who went to identify the body. His made-up life didn't help with that."

All of that plotting which lead to the epic ending, the ending of the story he loved to tell me about every visit (hoping to make me proud), that only resulted in fake funerals.

"What I want to know is how you found me? I know how brilliant he was at keeping secrets, even from you."

"It seems that he had only a handful of weaknesses at the end, my dear, and you were quite a large one. I found this in his pocket."

He placed a still bloody photo of the two of us in my open hand, closing my eyes against the bad memories was starting to not work anymore (the blood always seeps through), and I nearly lost it.

(if I let those bitter tears come leaking out they would never stop)

"You can despise me if you want, Willow, for being the instrument that drove him over the edge."

Sherlock was blurred through those stupid tears, the very ones that I had promised not to cry in front of him (the name and person that took him away from me), but I could feel his hands resting on my shoulders.

(comforting me like the little girl I've tried to abandon over the years)

"I can't hate you, Sherlock, just like he could never hate you even at the end."

* * *

"Treasure, do you want to play a game?"

I'm the only member of our dysfunctional family (that ended up breeding a lot of clinically insane boys and girls) who will still play his silly immature games.

(no aunt will let any children near his snapping mouth since the last 'game' ended bloody)

"Uncle, I'm freaking fifteen, way too old for childish games."

Ever since I was a bouncy baby Jim has been the one teaching me, and oh how my parents hated our relationship (knowing that a kiss could turn to a nip pretty fast with him) but knew better than to say a word.

(that power he holds gives him the control he needs but doesn't keep him warm at night)

"I never said that it was for the kiddies, just one for the two of us."

These 'games' of his were always just for us, never for those who wouldn't understand the way our minds worked (reading faces and guessing how so damn ordinary they were), and one day they would end up turning sour.

('let's plan how to take apart Sherlock, willow tree, piece by piece.')

"Fine, but no nasty tricks you know how I hate when you do those, Jim."

I let him take my hands in his and pull me along into his darkest fantasies, wondering what mother and father would think of this madness that followed us around like a black cloud.

(rip their baby girl away from the mad hatter and run)

"I cross my black, black heart, my willow tree."

He ran a finger across both our hearts showing just how alike we are in every way, meaning that one day I will lose all of shiny marbles just like he's doing right now (and I doubt they will come rolling back home), making sure to kiss my forehead before running off.

(I always knew when he wanted me to chase)

* * *

Memories filled with him washed over me, the bad ones always staying and chasing away the good (as Mr. Hyde came out to play), and when I swallowed them back down they tasted like ashes.

"Why are you really here, Sherlock? I doubt it's to comfort me, I know you better than that."

For years each week ended with playing a game with my dear uncle, even at seventeen (while trying to figure out how to break the concept of college and living my own life to him), and the last few has been filled with nothing but Sherlock.

(for a while I cursed that damn name but seeing the real thing has make me a believer)

"I'm here because I believe that your uncle is still alive, Willow, that he faked his death."

I tried so hard to not let my hopes get up, because for the last three months I've been waiting for him to walk through my door with that stupid grin growing wide and gather me in his arms.

(each day the sunsets the pain comes back and knocks me down all over again)

"And you thought he would come to me first?"

When I tried to think of one other person that he would come home to, all that came up was myself and of course Sherlock who he spoke of like a lost lover.

(someone he wants but has to destroy to preserve himself)

"Well, you're the only thing that proves the man even had a soul, so yes."

"He isn't here; if he was we would have left before you could have found us."

As I locked eyes with him I could tell that he knew was I was lying about giving up everything to run away and play chase once again with Jim.

I've gotten a taste of what his other side was like, the one that has fully taken over, and I doubt I would be safe with him anymore.

(I already said goodbye to my uncle and what's left isn't him anymore)

"Will you let me wait and see if he comes for you?"

That nagging part of me (the one that uncle left and would soon drive me mad) wanted to scream that this whole damn thing was his fault, but the sensible one knew that he did nothing to deserve any of it.

(like I didn't deserve to sit back and watch as someone I loved feel into the pits of madness)

"This isn't about revenge is it? You want to know how he did it, how he faked his death."

It took a lot to say that there was even a chance that he was somewhere still breath (still wearing his head and grinning with those eyes), but it was too late to not believe it now.

(and my fists would beat against Sherlock's chest when everything pointed to death)

"You know me, Willow; I always have to know the answer."

"Fine, but you get to sleep on the couch Mr. Master Detective."

I pointed down at the tiny couch hoping he would make him give up (something I would later find was that he never gave up on anything), catching a glimpse of that damn watch that was hanging off of my arm.

(keeping it close to my heart would only make everything worse)

"Who said anything about sleeping, dear girl? There is far too much to figure out for such idle things."

He said it all with a mischievous smile, making me remember when Jim could smile at me without it cracking, and I couldn't help but smile back.

"Holy crap, you're even worse than he was."

It was like seeing a brand new version of Jim, (giving me a new person to connect with that wasn't family), but with half of the crazy homicidal side.

"You have no idea just how true that is."

"Still up trying to figure out the world's problems and captive my uncle at the same time, Sherlock?"

I gave up trying to sleep days ago, because if I shut my eyes I only saw his body stretched out on that table and what once was his head.

(seeing his head turn to mush before my eyes)

"You've been crying."

He passed over a box of tissues, making my cheeks go a deep red because he's the only person I've let see me in this state (mother and father would ask me 'why cry over such a man?').

"Very keen, people tend to do that when loved ones shot themselves in the head. I can't seem to shake it."

The felting idea that he might still be alive just like Sherlock seemed to calm me down for the moment, but I knew that when he proved it was real the pain would only get worse.

(I try to picture him alive but only see death)

"Have a seat, Miss Moriarty and try to figure out some world problems with me. Maybe that will chase your tears away."

He patted the space next to him and I found myself sitting by his side like a couple of friends playing a game together (hopefully not Mr. Hyde's type of games).

Months ago I would not believe that a slip of girl who dressed like the rainbow (but with a whole lot of leather and spikes) to keep others away would be cozying up to someone only after knowing him three hours, I would have laughed like a madwoman.

(only preparing myself for the coming years when I would grow into my genes)

"What was he like, Willow? I only got to know the psychotic version of James Moriarty but I suspect there was a lot more to him."

I tried to picture what he was like before all of the bad started to pile up, when he would slap me for being 'too damn ordinary' (you have to be cleaver or your nothing, willow tree) and hate himself for doing it.

(placing a block of ice on the red spot and kiss the top of head which always seemed to make me forgive him)

"He was different with me, softer, and all those wonderfully insane qualities were still present but toned down quite a bit. I know what he does is wrong, and what he put you through was horrible, but I can't help but care for him, Sherlock. He's my blood."

I ended my confession before I talked to spill the bad parts to this stranger, who I felt even more familiar with than the people in my own life, not wanting to tell it for the first time and be judged.

(he couldn't keep his black, black heart in line all of the time)

"I understand, I feel that about my own family (most of all big brother who nearly condemned me death) besides the whole psychotic murderer part."

I thought I was going to finally spill out even more damn tears, despite how hard I had been trying to not let him see me so weak, but instead I let myself laugh like a madwoman.

(showing just how much I really share with my dear uncle)

However those venomous tears that sucked the life from you still came back with a vengeance, instead of crawling up in ball by myself I had Sherlock Holmes to wrap me up in his arms.

(just a warm pair of arms is ten times better than any words)

* * *

"Treasure? Is that Sherlock Holmes snoozing on your loveseat? Do we have to have a talk about boys at the house, young lady?"

For a moment I thought I was dreaming that he standing beside my bed, after getting through the heavily locked door (having somewhat strangers in house makes you paranoid), but when he kissed my forehead I knew that it was really him.

(even in the pitch black I could see the struggle happening his eyes)

"Gather your things before his royal highness wakes up and we have yet another great confrontation. I'd rather avoid another one those, a man can only die twice. Next time it might stick."

He pulled on my hands like in the past expecting me to let him drag me across the world and back again (nearly to the pits of hell) but instead I surprised him by taking it back.

(stripping away that last bit of control he had over me)

"How could let me believe that you were dead, uncle? I mourned your death and felt pain you can't even dream of."

It was like he couldn't even see me; Mr. Hype was only here to pick up his plaything (always coming out to turn everything sour), and just wanted to steal me away.

(instead of wet tears I found my face flushed with anger)

"It had to be like this, pet, so we could slip away after I took care of my little Sherlock pest problem."

In the darkness I tried to look into his eyes so I could find my uncle, the softer part that would come out to tickle away the monsters and kiss the wounds (ones that Mr. Hyde would give me as presents), but saw nothing.

"Quit that, I know how much you care for him, uncle, it's as clear as day. Besides you did a poor job because he's very much alive."

I waited for him to be crushed that all of that planning was for nothing, just a big show of 'who's the cleverest?', or even regret about all the pain it brought.

(wondering if he ever cared that he broke my heart and was still breaking it now)

"But he's ruined, stunk in limbo from those he loves, Willow, and so in the end I still win. Now get your things, please, and come with me, darling."

He tried to grab my hands in the darkness, making me remember that most of our 'games' ended in the dark (now they are all dark and nothing else), but for the first time I didn't come with him.

(hoping that one Mr. Master Detective would come in before he pulled me down into the darkness)

"I can't go with you, Jim. My god, I'm only seventeen years old and it would kill my parents."

Trying to reason with this side of his was nearly impossible, it was like talking to a wild beast 'please don't eat me, it isn't logical', and when he clamped his hands over mine I knew reason was out the window.

(now instead of skipping off with my uncle I was be pulled along like a hostage)

"If you don't come, Willow tree, I'll make sure that it does _kill_ them."

Just then I knew that it was the tainted version of my uncle that had come back for me, while the softer one was buried deep inside (maybe locked up for the rest of his days), and I couldn't help but be petrified.

(if his softer side had come I might have accepted that open hand)

"Step away from her, James, or I will make sure you're really dead this time."


	3. He Brings Hope With Him

"Step away from her, James, or I will make sure you're really dead this time."

Sherlock had the gun pointed straight at his head, with one hand out for me to grab on to and make my escape from Jim's suffocating grip.

(making me choose between family and sanity)

"Sherlock, my dear 'should be a blood stain on the pavement' boy, you're interrupting our family reunion. Willow, dearie, isn't that rude of Mr. Holmes?"

I was clutched to his chest, the softer side afraid that Sherlock (and the rest of the moral world) was going to take away the last person he had left in the damn world, while Mr. Hyde didn't want to lose his plaything.

(losing control was something he was not accustomed to)

"Don't you dare leave me now, you little bitch, not after all we've been through."

Suddenly he had his hands wrapped my throat (I'd say it was a first time but that would be lying) and it felt like he was twisting out what was left of me.

(the scream that has been building up for years finally escaping)

"Uncle Jim, please stop."

Through it all I locked my eyes with his, glad to see that the struggle was starting to come back (as he watched me breathe my last), and when he woke up to what he was doing he let me free.

(witnessing his heartbreak almost made forgive but I stopped myself)

"I told you to let me go, willow tree, I begged you. Now I don't know if I can let you free, my song bird."

With tears flooding out he buried his head in my chest, the softer side coming out to gain my forgiveness (with a kiss on the forehead and grin) and repent. But Sherlock knocked him out before I fall into his web once again, knowing that it would only end in pain.

(however I knew that I would give that damn forgiveness too easily)

"Are you okay, did he hurt you?"

"Not physically, at least not this time."

I waited for the questions to come at me rapidly, after all it was Sherlock and he wouldn't stop until he knew every last detail, but instead he just placed his hands on my shoulders.

(his touch gentle and comforting compared to my uncle's iron clad one)

"She's the only one who understands… my willow tree."

There was something peaceful seeing him like that, the crazed look gone from his face (the one that warns me when Mr. Hyde has arrived), it brought back the light that was our first years together.

(before it all turned to ashes in our mouths)

* * *

"Tea, the perfect remedy for abusive insane uncles that you can't stop caring for, cheers."

I burned my lips on the scolding tea, reminding me of how much his fingers pressing against my throat had burned me (and broke my damn heart at the same time). I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he had pulled me back into his dark world.

"Cheers. Are you sure that you're fine, Willow? That is quite a traumatizing thing for a girl of your age to go through."

I caught those questioning eyes of his that holds a pleasant kind of darkness to them (unlike Uncle's which are forever pitch black now), looking me over as if they were trying to figure me out.

(wondering why I wasn't totally broken by now)

"You can say it, Sherlock, I know you want to."

The tea cup nearly came tumbling out of my shaking fingers, waiting for the words to come and make everything a harsh reality (when I've been living in a daydream), but he reaches out and steadies my nerves.

(his hands keeping me from breaking apart)

"Fine, you caught me. Was that something you're used to with Moriarty?"

It's even hard for him to say those words, they would require him to have a heart and after what Jim did he doesn't want to show it anymore (so it won't be stabbed again), knowing that he's right about everything.

(the day he is truly wrong about something might never come)

"Y-Yes, he started changing when I was fifteen, and now I don't even know who he is anymore."

Bringing it up makes me slip back into my fifteen year old self once again, looking up at Jim like he hung the stars instead of shooting them down (along with my dreams), watching as he plotted the murder of my parents.

('They will strip us apart, pet, one day and I will never let that happen, _never'_)

"What he needs is help and a lot of it. And I believe you are just the person to do it."

I thought there would be a punch line at the end of that ridiculous sentence, knowing that when I reached out to help I only get bitten, and this would turn into one big joke.

('Why, are you like this, Jim?' 'There is no rhyme or reason to it, treasure, it just is')

"As you saw, Sherlock, I only manage bringing out the monster in him, just like you."

Whenever the monster did come blazing out to greet me (Mr. Hyde and his horrible ways), never knowing when he would come out to play, I would try and run the other way.

(sometimes Mr. Hyde would have a jolly good time dragging me home again)

"Now that is where you're wrong, Willow. Only with you does he ever feel remorse over his actions and that is something."

I wait for him to say he's been joking about everything, that a silly girl could never do something as massive as that (pull another from the darkness), but instead he only reassures me even more.

(and for one glorious moment I can feel the light shining on my face)

* * *

"Come to see the show, willow tree? Or did you come to tell me how much you despise this despicable villain?"

Seeing him through glass, slightly glad that those burning hands couldn't chomp down on me (but knowing that glass couldn't stop him), made him look like a harmless puppy when I knew he was a shark.

(those teeth happy to bite down and never loosen)

"I could never bring myself to despise you, Jim, which is why I let you hurt me so many times and never once left."

My words felt numb, waiting on the tip of my tongue for so many goddamn years (along with the numerous 'no's I've built up), but I was able to push them out for the first time.

(hoping that the glass was strong when Mr. Hyde heard me)

"We should play hide and seek, pet, but you should stay hidden from me. I'd rather die than hurt you, treasure but the other part me doesn't feel the same. Promise me you won't come back, do it now."

He held his hands against the glass, while I locked eyes with him able to see the tears that were starting to blur the barrier between us (holding my breath waiting for the darkness to fall).

"I can't do that, Jim, I won't."

I pushed past my old fears that those wicked hands would bust through and wrap around my neck ('ready to play our favorite game, pet'?), and placed my hands to match his.

"Well, I can, darling, and for your own good I will."

As I watched him leave, knowing deep down that it would never last (when Mr. Hyde came I would be sucked back in), afraid that I couldn't save him.

(but I knew that I would never give up hope)

* * *

"It will take time, but I do truly believe that you're the one that will bring him back. The only one who cares what becomes of James Moriarty."

It was starting to become a regular thing having Sherlock Holmes in my living room, studying me with those curious eyes (taking Jim's place in so many ways), and waiting with a cup of tea.

(trying not to show that he's enjoying this just as much as I am)

"Plus I'm the only one that will stay by his side even when his venomous words and fists come flying. What a lovely job."

Every single visit it was a different Jim staring back at me, one that wanted to protect me from himself and one that waited a taste of my blood (and lives off of my girlish fear), and it was slowly driving me mad.

(waiting for the day it would crack me into a million pieces)

"But worth it, Willow, you'll see."

I wanted to see it through his eyes, see what I really looked like (so maybe I wouldn't hate myself so goddamn much) to the great Sherlock, but all I saw in front of me was disappointment.

"I have a favour to ask of you. I know I've only just met you, and it is not proper to ask such things. Will you come with me when I reveal myself to John? I don't know if I handle it on my own."

As he asked his favor, something he wasn't used to one bit (and was worried my answer would be negative) he gripped my hands like never before.

I couldn't help but look down surprised that I hadn't ripped them away, as I was pulled into another scolding memory thanks to Uncle Jim (and his love of burning flesh), but instead held them back.

"Of course, Mr. Master Detective, I will. Saving my life from raving lunatics gets you a jackpot of favours."

For the first time in weeks I was able to feel something other than grief and paralyzing fear (the last bit nothing new), and couldn't help but match my smile with his.

(those bad memories slowly being replaced with that grin of his)

"And I shall take great advantage of those, but be warned my favours are far from ordinary."

I knew very well not to expect any sort of ordinary from Sherlock, after all he has a lot in common with Jim and ordinary used to be a curse word to him (and I would earn a good slap for using it).

(when I looked at him I only saw extraordinary and nothing below that)

"Well, I'm not an ordinary person either, Mr. Holmes."

Instead of calling me ordinary like Jim would (on the side of the angels), and would push me to my limits just to prove it wrong, he tightened his grip and grinned.

"I can see that, and it will be a marvelous time trying to figure you out."

(and of course the great detective didn't miss the growing blush I tried to hide)

* * *

"Uncle?"

Even through the glass I could tell that the person I was speaking to this time wasn't my uncle, it was the other part that giggled as it hurt me in unimaginable ways (just trying to prove it could be done), and the fear came rushing back.

(wondering now if it was here for good)

"Out and about with Sherlock Holmes, laughing about my failures, willow tree?"

I felt the urge to tell him not to call me that, it was a name that only belonged on the lips of the softer part (the one that would never lay a finger on me), but my words caught like all the times before.

(never able to stand up to this demon with his soft features)

After a long pause, using that time to pick and choose the perfect words (and locate all of the exits), I was able to find my voice again.

(now if only I could look him in the eyes)

"He only wants to help you, Jim, and after what you put him through you should be grateful that he didn't kill you."

Another sentence sat on my tongue, 'you should be grateful that I'm still here' but I knew he would see through that.

('as if you'd ever be able to leave me, pet, we're bound to each other.')

"No, no, he did kill me in other ways, pet. He took away the only thing I have ever wanted in my whole goddamn life. You."

I tried to see past the darkness that was gathering in his eyes, and the venom that laced his words (that told me if the glass wasn't here he would be hurting me once again), but it was all that I could see.

(trying to find my uncle inside there was impossible)

"You belong with me in dark, treasure, not on the side of the angels. You'll see that soon, and then you'll come and play."

He whispered his last words so only I could hear them, just like he used to do in front of mother and father ('if they ever try and take you, treasure, it will be the last thing they _ever_ do'), and pounded his fist on the glass separating us.

"Not even the great Sherlock Holmes can keep us apart, pet, and killing him a second time will only bring me joy."

* * *

"How was he?"

I didn't expect him to be waiting for me; snuggling up to my cat like no one else could, but he was still here hiding from his crumbling life trying to help me with mine.

(before I took hold of his hand and helped him go back to his own)

"The same, nothing ever changes with him Sherlock, and nothing ever will."

Those dark eyes were still haunting me, while his words played in a loop in my ears (chilling me to the bone each time), but they were chased away by Sherlock's warm ones.

(claiming he wasn't on the side of the angels but I knew he was lying the whole time)

"Wait and see, things will start looking up, Willow, and I'm never wrong about these things."

I knew that having hope was a dangerous thing for me, after so many years of having them dashed (just like the blood he spilled just for a spot of fun), but when I was with him everything seemed possible.

(and I knew he would be by my side when everything came crashing down around us)

"Are you scared, Sherlock, of how John will react to all of this?"

I wait for him to tell me that Sherlock Holmes the great detective isn't afraid of anything, knowing how everything will turn out makes him fearless, but instead I get the bitter truth.

"Very, but at least I have someone to be petrified with."

(and I make a silent promise to always tell him the truth as well)


	4. No Longer Tainted

"What is it, Sherlock, is something wrong?"

After knowing him only a month, as he hid from his old life and settled into a new one with me (giving me the company I had been craving), I could already figure out when he was concerned about something.

(and watching as his eyes locked on me I knew that it was bad)

"Please sit down, Willow."

I couldn't stand the looming tension in the air, that lightness I had with him was becoming a storm cloud, knowing that I wouldn't be able to sit without figuring out what it was.

(wondering if he was finally leaving this pathetic girl with crazy running in her veins behind for greater things)

"Just tell me whatever you figured out, Holmes, I'm a big girl."

All the horrible possibilities were swirling in the mind, waiting for the worst to come crashing down on me (knowing good never came my way), but I knew that anything that involved him hating me would hurt me beyond belief.

(it would even rival the pain I felt over Jim)

"James Moriarty isn't really your uncle, he isn't your blood, Willow, and he never was."

The first thing that comes with this reveal, silently cursing those people that pretended they had made me (that I had Moriarty tainted blood in my veins) is the feeling of freedom. But the years of playing along, letting his hands burn me with each hateful touch, for the sake of blood feel like wasted time.

(wondering if I had been kept would my life be filled with light instead this nightmare darkness)

* * *

"Willow, darling, come say hello to your uncle James. The girl is almost as much trouble as you were as a child, brother, always wondering off. Willow, now!"

I keep the monster face I wanted to make to her back to myself, afraid that this brand new uncle would tell on me (not knowing that he wished to do the same thing), and came skipping over to her.

(bracing myself for her tirade to begin over such useless things like scraped knees)

"How on earth did you get so messy? Do you really have to do this to me every day, Willow Moriarty?"

Her face turned a shade of bright purple as she took in my brand new dress that was now black with soil, and I was also planning on ripping it in a few noticeable places (just for her), and kept my monster face locked away.

(saving it all for when I finally free from this place with so many rules and punishments)

"I think she looks marvelous."

I caught him staring at my master piece, turning the blinding white dress (the current fashion of course) a muddy black, but without the fury or disappointment adults seem to master over the years.

(sticking their noses up in the air pretending to be more than they would ever be)

"Of course you would, James, you're nearly as filthy as she is. James, when will you finally grow up?"

I took a peek at the clothes my uncle was parading in without an ounce of guilt, and I could tell he wore the tee-shirt and shorts that were worse than mine just to infuriate mother.

(over the years I wished he would leave the designer suits for that old filthy teddy-bear look)

"When I dance on your grave, you bitch."

He said the prohibited word under his breath, not knowing that the only person who heard it was nine and had a working understanding of it (based on all the times daddy would yell it at mommy), and I smiled sweetly up at him.

(wondering when I could finally say words like that and not shock the living daylights out of everyone)

"What did you say?"

He smiled that same sickly sweet smile at mommy, and even I knew that it wasn't filled with goodwill (which would lead to a lot of murder plots but no actions), and she ate it up like all of the others.

"Nothing, sweet sister of mine, just thinking out loud."

(falling into his web waiting until he finally decided to strike)

"Willow go say hello to your uncle while I talk to our other (not as beneath me) guests. And do try and stay clean, that dress was very expensive."

I was a master at pretending as well, just with small things (like feeding my greens to our dog) rather than the despicable ones James swept under the rug (the ones he would try and teach me), knowing that this lace thing was done for.

(the only one that was spotless was my black funeral dress that I enjoyed wearing a little too much)

"Hello."

I put out my tiny hand for him to shake, not ready to go up and hug a complete stranger (although it was rather fun to have a chat with them), and he nearly squeezed the thing off in his nervousness.

(that part of him only coming out in my presence, and now Sherlock's as well)

"H-Hello, umm…tiny and rather smart niece, I'm your uncle as you might have figured out already."

I watched with interest as he turned from a charmer into bumbling fool, quietly wondering if my mud laced dress was throwing the poor man off, already used to shocking people.

(even at age nine I was mastering the art of freaking out those around me and my brilliant blue locks at age eleven did the trick quite nicely)

"My name is Willow, like the trees I love to climb. I heard what you said about my mommy."

I waited for him to show the tattle-tale signs of being a grown up, telling me to go clean myself up ('you look like a beggar and not the daughter of a powerful man') and sticking his somewhat beck nose up at me, but all I got was silence.

(as those eyes, not yet pitch black, studied me from my bare feet to my crow colored hair)

"And I quite agree with you, Jim."

Instead getting myself yet another slap on the wrist, daddy believed the only right punishment was pain (and now since he isn't my father I can hate him for that), my words made him smile.

(and I already knew from his last one that this smile was his true one, no false charm)

"Are you really nine years old, or is a twenty year old trapped in there?"

His nervousness seemed to wash away; no longer afraid that he would be ousted as the liar he was (with that mask placed firmly over the real James Moriarty), and he found something in common with a person half his size.

"I'm really nine, almost ten pretty much an adult. Are you really as nutty as mommy and daddy say?"

I hoped the fact that I never filtered a single thing that came out of my mouth, because I thought it was a waste of brain power, wouldn't cause the most interesting person here to hate me.

(despite my act of indifference I still wanted to be loved, like all children do)

"I suppose so, willow tree."

It was a time when even I was questioning how old I was (and wondering why adults always looked at me so strangely) and enjoying the only company I had for ages. And that first time that would lead to so many more (this one tame compared to others), it was my tiny hand that pulled him along.

(not knowing what one tiny pull would bring)

"Come with me, Jim, I know just the spot where we can roll in the muck and make mommy blow her top."

* * *

"That can't be true, Sherlock, you're wrong!"

As I was trying to pull myself back together again, terrified that I had spent my life by his side (because of our matching blood) because of a mess of lies, I nearly toppled over.

(Sherlock, the one that made this false world around me come crumbling down, catching me)

"When have I ever been wrong about something as monumental as this, Willow?"

With his arms wrapped around me, keeping me from hitting the ground (as my mind was running through all the bad once again), I ran my fingers over my face.

(remembering all the times I had looked at myself and only seen him)

"But I look like him, I have his eyes."

My numb lips wanted to say 'and I have his darkness', the words he would whisper as he punished me for trying to run away.

(saying that our minds are and will always be the same pitch black color)

"Nothing about you is from him, not your eyes and most of all not your blood. Everything belongs to you and you alone."

I failed and let the tears come spilling out, those wet things that were happy ones this time (draining away his control) but this time I had Sherlock here to wipe them away.

(and tell me once again that my blood isn't tainted anymore)

* * *

I studied my face in the mirror trying to see me instead of Jim looking back, wondering if the person that gave me these eyes was on the side of the angels, but all I see staring back is the darkness.

(the one that he loves to say 'will claim you like it captured me, treasure.')

As layered the think crimson dye into my hair (covering up the pitch black original color) the blood like color reminds me of Jim.

When he sliced open our palms, pressing them together like they were keys to some magical world (now I think it was some sort of hell) and showed me our Moriarty blood.

(whispering that I'm his blood and can never leave him, _never_)

I let it dry, this wonderful color used just so I could tell and show him that I had none of his blood running through me, and opened the door to find Sherlock waiting for me.

(wondering if this would finally push me over the edge)

"How does it look?"

I twirled around, dressed up in my own way (that one thing that should have tipped me off) and glad that his eyes didn't judge me like the rest of them, for only him.

(a warm grin resting on my lips that had been freezing cold with Moriarty)

"You look stunning, now go out and shock some ordinary people, Willow."

* * *

"How long have you known that you're not my unc-blood, Jim? How long have you've been lying to me?"

I couldn't bring myself to call him 'uncle', knowing that it was a word laced with lies (and he had played along the whole time), and because I felt that he didn't deserve to be called something so personal.

(and might lose my strength from this violent storm of anger that was growing beneath my skin)

"It's about time you figured it out, treasure, why do you think I kissed those lush lips of yours? I would never have done that if you were truly my blood, that's just plain wrong."

I had been hoping for the softer side, it would have made this all so much easier, but I wasn't about to let my fear keep from doing what I had come for.

(saying these final words and walking out the door for the rest of my potential filled days)

"Well at least I know now."

His hands lay on the glass taunting me to get closer (so he could bring out that sweet fear he craves so much) like a shark getting ready to bite. But I could tell that something in my voice was putting him off, and the fact that my eyes (that were never his) were locked with his.

(not counting the tiles in paralyzing fear)

"Yes, it's brilliant because you can finally kiss me back without feeling wrong, you can finally enjoy yourself, pet."

I smiled back, the same one he had used when he was choking the life out of me (and kissing it better), one filled with knowing and a new found bravery.

(knowing that it would the last time I played any of his games)

"No, it's bloody brilliant because I now know that I don't how your toxic blood in me. I'm finally free."

Before I lost this sweet bravery I blocked out his chilling voice, telling me what he would if I dared leave him, and walked out the door without a second thought.

* * *

"Are you sure that you're up for this, Willow, after everything that's happened today?"

When we had finally reached Baker Street, a few steps away from doing what he feared most at the moment (wondering if he would lose it all again), he took my waiting hand and still hasn't dropped it.

(his grip wasn't like Jim's where it felt like he wanted to sallow me whole)

"I made you a promise, Sherlock, and I don't plan on breaking it."

It was nice to have someone to worry about me (that wouldn't turn evil five seconds after asking if I was okay), but I was still living off the thrill of walking out on Jim (showing him that the only thing that kept me coming back was blood) and grinning like a fool.

I was trying to enjoy every moment, make this memory of holding hands with Sherlock push out all the bitter tasting ones (this one tasted heavenly) because these moments never seemed to last.

(before Moriarty came to ruin our lives once more)

Before he could change his mind I went up to that door, one Moriarty printed out a picture of and hang on his bedroom wall (next to it Sherlock's picture and mine side by side), and knocked for him.

(giving him a good push forward but sadly away from me)

"I wasn't ready, Willow."

"At the pace you were going we'd have been here for months."

Tension filled the air, and he was squeezing the living daylights out of my hand (cutting off the blood that doesn't belong to Jim anymore), as we waited holding our breath for John to come.

(and see that he was lied to just like I was)

"I don't want any damn cookies-Sherlock?"

All of that sadness that had filled him to the brim, visiting his grave at least once a day for a month solid (and then always coming back once a week), melted away and anger took over.

(however there was a sort of happiness to his anger, happy that his best friend in the whole world was breathing)

"John."

Right when he was about to explain everything, even I was more than curious to learn how he had faked the whole thing, (and made Jim look like a bloody idiot), John stepped back and punched him full in the face.

(and I was glad that our hands were no longer locked or he would have taken me down with him)

"I guess I deserved that."

I placed a hand over my mouth to keep from cracking up, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't like me enjoying his pain so much (but even I wanted to punch him sometimes). I backed away from the pair so they could work out everything without me getting in the way.

(wondering when he would finally spot the strange colored Goth in the room)

"No, you deserve a whole lot worse than that Sherlock, for letting me think you we're dead. It nearly killed me you bugger."

After insulting him (and giving him a second punch to his pretty boy face) he couldn't help himself anymore and ended up giving Sherlock a huge hug.

(I could tell that John was one of the few people he would ever let hug him like that)

"I wanted to tell you, John, but it wouldn't have worked if you had known. I am sorry about it all, trust me on that."

He whispered that last part for John only, while I was standing awkwardly to the side trying not to hear any of their private moments (blushing so much I matched my hair), and that was when John finally noticed the thing in the room that didn't belong.

(for the first time in a while my body was burning with embarrassment about my strange get-up)

"And who might this be?"

John shook my out stretched hand, which was decked out in red lace (and I was starting to regret my symbolic wardrobe choice), right away and I could see why Sherlock loved him so much.

(but I already had confirmation that there was nothing romantic to them at all, when Sherlock's eyes nearly popped out his skull when he saw me in my corset)

"John, this is Willow Moriarty, Willow this is John Watson."

I took my hand back quickly waiting for him to put the pieces together (Moriarty = the devil) and decide to hate me just because of that haunting name.

(there are some Moriarity's that even outdo Jim)

"Moriarty?"

I swallowed up my fear of having him hate me for just a name, not blaming him of course because that name has caused him so much pain, and put on my best brave face.

(trying not to be distracted by Sherlock taking my shaking hand to steady it)

"Pleasure to meet you, John, you don't have to worry I'm nothing like my uncle, being adopted has its perks."

I watched as the mortification faded from his face, seeing something invisible that separated me from the name Moriarty (it also helped that it had nothing over me), and he turned his eyes back onto Sherlock.

(watching him with fasciation that he seemed to do on a regular basis)

"What are you staring at John?"

(I was starting to like John Watson, who took one look at my clothes and didn't judge me)

"It's just rather surprising to see you a woman that you fancy being so close to you and you not losing your marbles, it's something new."

Watching Sherlock turn a brilliant crimson was a nice change, since the start it's always been me who was turning red around the ears (and him laughing about it), as I waited for him to say how much he didn't fancy me.

"And it's rather a shock that you've managed to stay with the same woman for three months let alone a week."

I tried to not show how glad I was when Sherlock didn't deny that he fancies me, something I caught on to when he nearly fell down when he saw me in my short (of course black) shorts, while the two boys finished their spat.

(it was like watching an old married couple, bloody entertaining)

"God I missed you, Sherlock, now life can go back to somewhat normal."

At 'somewhat' he looked quickly at me and my outrageous outfit, waiting patiently for either us to finally explain why I was now attached to Sherlock's hand, and of course Sherlock caught him.

"With the addition of your lady (who has quite the nice taste in perfume), and mine. I-I mean with Willow here, but I doubt yours has the ever revolving hair colors (and taste in leather boots and frilly corsets) like hers."

I studied my colored hair, which was vibrant red to go with my fury over mother and father keeping secrets from me for eighteen damn years (and that secret being the one I needed to know the most), trying to pretend I didn't hear him say that I was his.

(feeling like I was on the spot with my black lace skirt and buttoned up corset than ever before)

"I can see that, it will be a spot of fun trying to guess what color will be next. It's a pleasure to meet you too, Willow, and welcome to 221 B. Baker Street."

* * *

"Happy birthday, Willow, I believe that even John picked you up a little something. I'd say that was a bit rash since he's only known you a few hours, but I could say the same about myself."

Even though I was expecting something Sherlock could always surprise me, sneaking up on me when I was dressed in my bunny night clothes (dying my hair a faded magenta to wash away the blood), and him holding a Nightmare Before Christmas cake was shocking.

(making me blush once again about being caught while watching my comfort movie)

"I was expecting something; it is quite hard to hide giant balloons, but not this much, Sherlock. You shouldn't have."

I ran my finger across the side of cake (trying to push Jim's slapping hand from my mind) taking the pitch black frosting off and tasting the sweet perfection.

(silently wondering why my fake parents never did anything like this for me)

"Are you going to ask me how I figured out it was your special finally becoming an adult day? (something I've already been for years thanks to Mr. Hyde and his games)"

He was like a child when it came to figuring out things, I swear by the time he finally does leave he will take all my secrets with him (and I hope he never does leave me), but I wasn't going to give in this time.

(sit back and let him tell me how he brilliantly solved it, no, this time it was my turn)

"You used all those police ties that you've reattached over the last month and took a peek at my birth certificate, am I right?"

I watched his face fall as I stole his thunder, something he wasn't used to until Moriarty came and shocked him with it (making the one thing he was proud of his downfall).

(instead of bullet to the head it earned me a tickle fight)

"Surprisingly yes, now open everything before something comes and ruins this all (meaning Moriarty of course)."

It was nice to have someone who knew what it felt like to treasure (of course Jim made me hate that damn word) every moment because Moriarty might be around the corner plotting to turn it to ashes.

(and from our last conversation I knew it wouldn't be long)

"I do believe that I deserve a break from my life being ruined but with my track record you never know what's coming next."

He made sure to give me his present first, but I went for John's (knowing it could never outshine Sherlock's) and saved his for last.

"Well, at this very moment chocolate cake and ice cream is next."

It was nice to have all the pressures of our lives slip off our shoulders for at least one night, the fact that John had welcomed him back with open arms had also made his day (and the nervousness was replaced with joy), before reality came crashing back.

"And a present from the great Sherlock Holmes that I know will be brilliant."

I unwrapped his present, after opening John's which was a thank you note (for making Sherlock come home like a good boy) and bottle of baby blue dye (helping my addiction along nicely) and found a beautiful book in my hands.

'The art of deduction' by Sherlock Holmes, just the novel I was dying to read.

(it also felt like acceptance, something I haven't had a lot of in my life)

"But only for unordinary people like us."

* * *

"Hello?"

I was holding my breath, just like each time I picked up my phone dreading that _he_ might be at the other end (and breathe a sign of relief when it's Sherlock), and I nearly drop the damn thing when his voice comes.

(able to send a chill up my spine without even being in the room)

"I'm coming home, honey, and I do hope that you'll be waiting for me, willow tree. And if you're not, I'd be more than happy to drag you back with me, my love."

Before I can say anything Sherlock's at my side taking the phone from my shaking fingers, as I'm trying so hard to find my new found bravery (wondering if he had scared it away for good) and standing up for me.

(his words almost as threating as Jim's, but for all the right reasons)

"You'll take her over my dead body, Moriarty."

His laugh comes booming out, that he could never control as Mr. Hyde came out and slapped me 'stop being so ordinary, child, it isn't very becoming', the one that still haunts me crystal clear in my ears.

"With pleasure, Holmes, do keep her company for me while I'm gone, my boy. Make sure to say you're touching goodbyes because you'll never see her again."

I watch as he chucks the phone across the room, his fear showing just like mine (not ready for Moriarty to take it all away again), and it's my turn to try and comfort him.

(but my damn fear keeps me from doing such a simple thing like that)

"What are we going to do, Sherlock?"

I hate feeling so helpless in front of him, I want to be strong but all of those misery filled memories cause me to shake (because I know what he'll do to me if he tracks me down), but I'm glad that he's here for me to lean on.

(someone who cares what will become of me)

"Wisk you away before he finishes up his escape. I bet John will be very happy to have us, willow tree."

When he calls me that name, the one that was pinned not by Jim at all but by me (who begged mother and father to change my name), he looks at me like he's said the worst thing in the whole world.

"Willow, I'm sorry, I won't call you that again."

I grab hold of his hand ready to run off with him, a feeling that I've only had with Moriarty (and regretted it whenever we got to our destination), and give him a smile that's just for him.

(glad that Moriarty can never take that away from me)

"It's fine, I love that name more than anything just not from him. You, my master detective can me that any time you want."


	5. What Hell a Simple Kiss Brings

"This might not be the best hiding place, Sherlock, I'm pretty sure he'll guess this one right away."

I was silently wishing that all of this damn Moriarty business would simply melt away and he would find something other than me to go after like a wild dog (but wishing never worked and never will).

Trying to smile up at John, who always seemed to place a cup of tea in my empty hands whenever I came over (it was like an unwritten rule) but the grimness of the situation didn't help us relax one bit.

(watching the door for the boogieman to come busting through)

"We won't be staying for long, just until big brother sets up a smug hiding place."

It was like a gloomy storm cloud entered the room whenever Sherlock spoke of his brother, being an only child (now wondering if that is still true) I never knew what having a brother was like, and sadness radiated off him.

(bringing up Mycroft Holmes was something I noticed John never did, another unspoken rule)

"Will I get the chance to meet this mystery man that is saving my ass (more like saving my sanity)?"

I caught his eyes locked on my hands, now stripped away of the blood like nail polish and left bare for the first time in years (free of the pitch black color of choice), and took his hoping it would bring him back.

(keep his mind from big brother and the ghosts that lay beneath the surface)

"If I can help it, no, and trust me it will not be a much of a loss."

* * *

"The man is in insane; there is no way that he can escape. No one has escaped this prison, _ever_."

I had learned not to rule out anything when it came to Moriarty the hard way, and now I get to pay for my ignorance with his hate (that has taken on a new life).

"I wouldn't underestimate James Moriarty, if there is way he will find it. Trust me on that."

My hand was locked on my damn phone, the one that rings a million times a day but never with the one I truly want (and will break my rule about only texting for), and I nearly dialed his number.

(wondering if I saying sorry would erase years of sins)

"Worried that he'll try and come after Sherlock again, Mycroft?"

It would seem that now I had a heavy guilt weighting me down, when I had become as brilliant as Sherlock at pretending I didn't care about him at all (until I saw his fake body laid out on the slab), and it would take ages to lessen it.

(waiting for him to call so I can start repaying my debts)

* * *

"Yes, I owe him quite a lot at the moment and making sure he's alive is a good start on paying it back."

He was waiting for me to come home again, every part of his but that brilliant white grin of his was a crimson red (paying me back for my insolence), blood stained hands reaching out for me.

(ready for me to come along like a good little girl)

"You didn't want to play with me, pet, so I had to find my own fun."

The smell was the first thing that nearly knocked me off my feet, which were bleeding from walking straight here from the comfort of Baker Street, and my wide eyes feel on the bodies surrounding him.

(all of those innocent souls that had the misfortune of crossing Jim in a foul mood)

"No!"

* * *

I woke up screaming (almost forgetting that my long locks were now glow in the dark neon green) petrified that I was still in that horrible place.

The sudden appearance of Sherlock's face hovering over my bed, like he was sitting outside ready to chase away my nightmares, made me remember that I safe and sound (at least for the moment).

(with a solider and the great Sherlock Holmes to protect me from the things that go bump in the night)

"Bad dream?"

A bad dream was something you had a child (fearing the items outlined in the darkness) and what I had was much worse than that, while inside I was hoping that it my dream wouldn't come true (my hands would be responsible for all that blood).

"More like a full on nightmare. I might dress like I enjoy them but I still hate closing my eyes and losing control."

It was like I was trapped back with Moriarty (playing those red stained games with Mr. Hyde) each time I closed my eyes, but I wasn't about to let the fear win.

(let Jim screw with my mind even more)

"I might not show it but I have plenty of nightmares of my own, Willow."

Taking his hand in mine was like routine now, and it was starting to get harder to let it go (while John was slowing getting used to it), but this time he was the one that grabbed mine.

(trying so very hard to quiet the fears for both of us)

"And let me guess Moriarty is the key figure in them as well?"

I had a difficult time picking out a nightmare that didn't have his grinning face in it, the one where you weren't sure if he was going to sing a song or bite you.

(and those hands that always delighted in making me shake when they were raised above his head)

"The whole damn city of London would have the same nightmares if they knew the real him."

It took me most of childhood to learn to fear Moriarty, finally figuring out that I didn't deserve his palm across my face (and the way his eyes watched me, and kissed my forehead was not right).

However there was no chance of making the rest of them see the wolf in sheep's clothing, they were so tangled up in his web that I couldn't see the enemy in front of them.

(the one who cursed them with each horribly polite breath)

"Instead it's just us, and all of the people he's had taken care of (making sure the blood doesn't touch his hands), who have the pleasure of knowing that."

I feel like I'm that little girl again, the one that they believe doesn't have a thought in her head (but James knows that she thinks way too much), begging to stay home instead being shipped off to 'Uncle Jims'.

(the only one aware of what dangers that lurked there)

"Would you mind if I joined you? Never mind that is so incredibly inappropriate, now I'll run off in shame."

As he turned to leave me in the darkness, those usually pale cheeks starting to turn a deep crimson and he didn't want me to see it (hating the feeling of losing control), I grabbed his hand and pulled him back.

(making him the second man who had warmed the other side of my bed)

"No, stay, I think that's a brilliant idea, Holmes. We can fight off the nightmares together."

I tried so hard to push away the memories filled with Moriarty, who would crawl into my ('motherfucking princess bed' as Jim so kindly called it) bed without asking permission, and replace them with this one.

* * *

That next morning, instead of Moriarty with his clinging grip (making me feel like he was snake dying to swallow me whole), I had Sherlock's hands loosely locked around my waist.

(and I couldn't help but watch as he slept peacefully, the nightmare's fading away)

Everything was starting to become way too real, as his hands decided that they didn't want to be confined to only one part of me, and I was afraid what hell (which Moriarty would rain down on us) this would bring.

(despite my desire to touch him back)

"Don't do this, Sherlock. He'll kill you, making sure you suffer immensely, for this."

I wanted to push him away, give this all up even though I want it so immensely, wake him up to the danger he was rushing head first into but I could barely think with his arms wrapped around me.

(and I knew that they would never release on their own)

"He's already planning on gutting me like a fish, so I don't think one kiss will make it any worse, Willow."

He whispered my name as he pushed past all my boundaries, not going to let Moriarty steal this from him as well (and right now my brain was on him alone), and his gentle kisses (tickling my neck like snowflakes) made my brain start to melt away.

(wishing that had this for the first time instead of the horror filled ones Moriarty was the king of)

"That was nice."

I rested my head on his chest trying to figure out how to breathe again, closing my eyes so that I could make this moment last (until he came swooping in to spoil everything), silently wondering if he had the same feelings.

(as if all the air was being sucked out of the room when our lips met)

"I believe phenomenal is the better word to use, willow tree."

I couldn't bring myself to tell him that his lips were the second pair I've kissed in my life, and in my head I wasn't counting Moriarty's (who never asked permission, _never_) because it never felt like this.

Keeping these lips locked up, knowing that 'Uncle' had eyes everywhere (and would love to skin my lovers alive), never finding someone who was worth the risk until now.

(even though I knew I would regret later when he fell just like all the others)

"And look we got to have this without the world falling down around us, at least for now."

I couldn't bring myself push him away now, besides it was too late to go back now (not after everything we'd been through) so instead I made a promise to not let anyone harm him.

I wouldn't let this happen all over again, Moriarty coming and ripping away what little happiness I had (taking my heart with him, bloody and broken).

(instead it would be me who he punished)

"Plus we didn't have that pesky fake uncle of yours coming to skin us, brilliant."

(I would knock on some wood, Mr. Holmes, and do it quickly)

"However we do have a very red John Watson watching us."

We giggled like two nutters as John, who had been frozen in the door way, coming to bring me my morning cup of tea and not expecting to find Sherlock under my bed covers, scampered off quickly.

(his cheeks almost as red as mine)

"I seem to have black lipstick on, interesting."

It was clear that I was in over my head, because no one had made me laugh like that (fixed my broken smile and turned it into something presentable) and I knew that only tragedy would come of it.

(happiness was a sweet thing that always went sour for me)

I reached over and wiped away the pitch black lip stick off, knowing it was trick to get me closer to him, and he pulled me into him giving me a breath stealing kiss.

"I can wear a different shade next time, Holmes, which ever you prefer."

On the outside I was laughing, letting the warm feeling take me over (and thinking of kissing him again before the end), but inside I was dreading what was going to happen next.

('remember what happened to the last pretty boy who wanted a piece of willow tree, he went down in flames, pet')

* * *

Going back home was a deadly risk, one I did when Sherlock was whisked off to solve a case (the police still stunned that he was breathing), but I wasn't about to leave my fake parents to face his wreath by themselves.

(and maybe they would finally spill all those nasty secrets)

I was expecting bodies of mother and father to greet me, knowing Jim well (and his desire to shock me until I gave him that delectable fear), but instead it was just my worst nightmare dressed in a Westwood suit.

(it was worth every slap I got for destroying those damn suits)

"You've been a very naughty girl, Treasure, but daddy is finally home to make sure you're punished for all your wicked deeds."

He was circling me like I was his pray, waiting for the right moment to pounce on me (me who was foolishly alone, ripe for the taking), but I knew he wasn't about to finish me off.

Each time he came close to finishing me off, those hands tightened until I was close to my last breath would suddenly let me free, he could never do it.

(he gave me bruises with his wicked finger tips but never broke the skin)

"And what kinds of deeds have I committed, Jim?"

I could already tell that those nosy eyes and ears of his (the ones that loved to watch my every movement) had spilled all about Sherlock and it wouldn't be long before he turned his monstrous gaze on him.

(and he would find a way to break him down into nothing like all the others)

"Oh, I can see that lovely backbone of yours, when did you grow such a marvelous thing like that?"

His fingers ran down my jacket making sure to go the length of my spine, trying so hard to catch me in his web once more (so he would be the one who was at the other end of those kisses), but I had someone on my mind that kept me from falling again.

(and that person was in my mind the most bloody brilliant kisser in the world)

Before he could lean and a steal a kiss, I could feel his breath on my face as he got closer (that shark like smile displayed proudly), I heard the click of a gun behind him.

As Moriarty turned to face his rival (the one he was having a hard time winning against), while I smiled at Sherlock to show him that I was still in one piece, I started to make my way over to him.

(all too aware of the danger that was standing in my way, one that was ready to bite)

"Touch her again and I'll shoot you right between the eyes, Jim."

I couldn't help but wonder if I would ever want Moriarty dead, even after all the hell he'd put me through (but he was the only one that was there for me), if my feelings for my fake uncle would ever disappear.

(those even stronger feelings toward Sherlock made me run to him)

"Sherlock, Sherlock, always coming to save the day, and you said you weren't the hero type. Liar, liar pants on fire."

(he also was a liar pretending to be nothing but a villain but I had seen something hidden deep inside that would contradict that)

"If being the hero right now means I get to enjoy watching you die (and saving her which I want to do even more) I'd be it in a heartbeat."

When I was a step away from reaching him, ready to start running so I could place myself between the two of them (not wanting another life taken because of me), Moriarty grabbed the tails of my coat and reeled me back in.

(it was like one of my many nightmare's was playing out before my eyes)

"Well, if you don't put that deadly weapon on the ground in five seconds, my boy, I will slice her open. Despite my affection for this little Lolita (and the darkness that shines on the outside), I do care for someone else a whole lot more. And that would be me, of course."

His favorite knife, the very one that I had seen him use on a countless number of people (making sure his hands were safe from the blood in a pair of gloves), rested against my throat.

(feeling the cold metal on my skin, and his warm hand that was interlocked with mine)

"Shoot him, Sherlock, do it now!"

I wasn't about to let Sherlock give up his life for me, just after he had gotten it all back (and shown that his heart was actually quite large) and I fought against Jim's tight grip hoping to end this all.

(even if ending meant with my blood being the first thing that stained his hands)

"Watch that horrible mouth of yours, lover, or you might hurt my feelings. And you wouldn't like what comes after that."

Something wasn't right, as he came closer and whispered 'don't be afraid, willow tree' into my ears like everything was just another game, and I began to see that despite his words he wasn't going to do anything.

(instead his lips kissed my ear and placed that knife away sharp and ready for someone else)

"You had your chance, Holmes, and blew (that sweet revenge you were hoping to drink up) it because of pair of black lace tights and baby-doll eyes. Too bad, I was hoping you'd pass the test."

He made sure to keep one hand locked around my waist, afraid I would go running off to Sherlock (didn't want me in another man's arms when I could be in his), taunting Sherlock by pulling me close.

(one of the few people who could get under your skin and stick there for life)

"Test? Is this all a big game to you, Moriarty? You sick twisted bastard."

To me it was nothing new, thinking up deliciously interesting game to play was a favorite past time of his (even asking me to make some of my own), but this time I was on the receiving end and knew that they always ended bloody.

(but I was here to make sure that it wasn't Sherlock's blood that ended the game)

"Quite (and thank you for the lovely compliment), but this one is starting to bore me. I think a shock filled ending in is store for us."

"Fine, do it, Moriarty. Finish the story; I don't have any tricks up my sleeves this time. Just don't hurt her, and I'll make sure your game has a splendid ending for you."

I was struggling to free myself, wondering if I would ever be able to escape his grip in this life time (so I could leave him behind without a second thought), with my thoughts only on Sherlock.

"That's the spirit! Count to ten, dear boy, and my sniper friend will finally put an end to this all (and I can take my baby-blue haired price back home with me, permanently)."

I had seen so many of these twisted games, the ones that always ended with someone else doing the dirty parts ('did you learn anything today, pet?'), and knew that this one would end the same as all the others.

(his blood and brains lining the walls and Moriarty still with that damn smile glued to his lips)

However this time I wasn't a scared little girl watching from the shadows, afraid of his fists that would come to punish me if I ruined his spot of fun, and I stepped in from of that daunting red dot.

(ready for it be me who falls this time)

"No! I won't let you win so damn easily, Jim. If you pull that trigger you'll have to kill me as well."

I can tell that I've hit a nerve, done something that's shocked him (watching me all but ready to say 'you're not ordinary at all'), and it's clear that I'm not going to step down.

(now we can only wait and see if his love can betray his insanity)

"Move, pet, or I'll have to come and move you myself. And I'm not in a very gentle mood, child."

Out comes that hand that once pulled me around the whole goddamn world, showing me wonders but something like that doesn't come without a hefty price tag (and my silence and obedience was a large one I no longer want to pay), but I no longer have the desire to be pulled along like a ragdoll.

('isn't this so much better, willow tree, to be with me instead of those ordinary fools?')

"Please don't do this, Willow."

I don't let myself look back at Sherlock, even though I feel one of his hands grab mine and squeeze (trying to tell me without words that everything would be okay), afraid that I lose this adrenaline filled bravery.

(neither could I look Moriarty in eyes because I was afraid of what I would find)

"I won't let you die this way, it's not right."

My eyes closed and I held my breath waiting for everything to come to end, wishing I could turn around and give him a goodbye kiss (and finally tell Jim that I wasn't his to make dance), but nothing happened.

Instead those daunting red dots faded away with a single movement, and when I finally did look at Jim for spilt second I saw a horrible sadness in his eyes (as he quit for the first time in his life) before it went back to insanity.

"You always know just how to spoil everything, don't you, my love? I've taught you well."

He didn't want to seem like a quitter, the very thing he could never do and I knew that he would be back ('if I give up something, willow tree, that means I'm too dead to finish it'), so on the way out he made sure to steal that kiss right in front of Sherlock.

(those eyes sliding to the side to make sure he was suffering)

"Happy birthday, willow tree, don't spend it all in one place."

He dropped a handful of fairy dust, the same gift he's placed in my hands each year (that thing I desired even more than material items) and told me to wish for wonderful things, and I couldn't help but pocket it for later.

('remember to wish for impossible things, pet, don't waste my present on _ordinary_ things')

"Until next time, my stubborn chess pieces (my queen who doesn't belong with the lowly knight). However, if I hear about any more hanky panky between you two naughty children I'll come back early and punish the lot of you."

I thought of grabbing the gun from Sherlock's hands and ending my problems right here and now, placing a bullet in the back of his head (silencing that taunting laugh once and for all), but I wasn't ready for that.

(those disgusting feelings were still there and would take forever to wash them away)

* * *

"I thought he was going to kill you."

Instead of just holding my hand after nearly dying together (stepping into the roles of Romeo and Juliet, but not as idiotic) he swept me up in my arms so abrasively that it felt like we were dancing.

(and felt myself believing that we would be fine, only for a moment)

"As did I, it isn't a very pleasant feeling being unprepared for risky situations. Well, at least who know now what his main weakness is. You."

That was nothing new, remembering when mother and father would send me off to uncle's house to tell him any bad news (knowing that he wouldn't spill my blood but would gut them without a second thought).

"Me. I kind of wish it was something less breakable."

I kept my worries about Moriarty finding a brand new way to kill off Sherlock to myself, but right now it was all I could think about (wondering if I would be able to pull that trigger if Sherlock's life was on the line).

(I was ready to give it all up if that meant saving him, and that frightened me beyond belief)

"Me too, Willow, but I plan on making sure that nothing happens to you."

His words gave me hope, that next time I kissed his lips wouldn't be the last (and that one day I would do in front of Jim and smile), and for the first time in a while I welcomed what was coming next.

(as long as the master detective was by my side to face it with me)


	6. A Glint of the Old Jim

"What in the world is this, Sherlock?"

He roused me from my restless sleep, my nightmare's had been worse after last night's excitement (with Jim's grinning face the star of the show), by kissing the top of my head.

I grabbed the coffee from him happily, glad to be free of the clutches of my night terrors, and watched in astonishment as he placed a full breakfast into my lap.

(my pancakes smiling up at me with bacon lips)

"Just as it seems, Willow, breakfast in bed, after last night I thought this might cheer you up."

I could already tell with one quick look that this wonderful breakfast had been put together with care by John Watson; thinking of Sherlock over the stove nearly brought me to tears (now an image I could never get out of my head).

"And should I be thanking John for this lovely spread?"

It was clear that he had been ready to take credit for John's thoughtfulness, wanting to impress me without doing the actual work (not knowing that he amazed me each day without trying), and wasn't prepared for me to figure it out.

(anyone who knows Sherlock at all could have figured it out)

"Well, yes, but I believe bringing it to does deserve some thanks (and I did at least make the coffee). And the good morning kiss that comes along with it, I doubt John would have given you that."

He leaned in and kissed my waiting lips, the only person I'd ever let see me in this horrible state (bloodshot eyes and hair sticking up to the ceiling) making wonder if every morning could start like this.

(a vast improvement over Jim bouncing on the bed like a child and making me topple off)

"I sure hope not, I only enjoy your morning kisses, Sherlock."

I nearly tipped over my coffee as Sherlock crawled in the bed with me, after he had been away the entire night working on tracking down Moriarty before he could surprise us again, and tickled the sleep away.

* * *

"I can't afford to go, Sherlock, what if he's out there waiting for me?"

I wanted desperately to go on living my life, and right now the first day of university was looming before me (calling out as the only solid thing I had besides Baker Street) but I didn't want to leave Sherlock to face Jim by himself.

(or find myself face to face with boogeyman without my master detective)

"You need to get out of this bloody house, Willow, and you shouldn't let him stop you. Now go off and learn something, you know I only date cleaver women."

I grabbed my backpack, the bagged lunch John had stunk in there was peeking out of the top (my god it was like I was reliving my damn childhood but with decent parents) bringing a smile to my lips, and opened the door hoping bravery would follow me.

(but even as I finally stepped out the fear was still overpowering)

"Fine but I get kidnapped you have to come and rescue me, Holmes, got that?"

As I left him for the first time in months, coming up with games to keep him from growing bored during his months of house arrest (when his face was on everyone's mind), I had bad feeling that I might not make it back.

(if so I'd miss the cups of tea John could whip up like magic)

"Crystal clear, now go off and perfect the art of being an irresistible school girl."

* * *

As I settled down at my desk, my excitement growing as the rest of the students filed in (the butterflies nearly busting out of my stomach), I let myself think that today might be normal.

Watching as the professor wrote his name on the board, and my school girl giddiness and grin fell to the floor as the letters spelled 'Richard Brook' in graceful handwriting.

(holding my breath as his grinning face turned toward me)

"Hello, class, I'm sorry to say that your professor is a little under the weather. But don't fret, I, Mr. Richard Brook, is here to teach you about the wonderful world of literature."

I was able to shake off my shock, as his eyes searched the crowd for me and betrayed his disguise by aiming a wicked grin my way, and quickly text Sherlock (his number sitting at the top of my phone).

(wondering if it was already too late)

'Sherlock, Moriarty is at the college, in my class, hurry.'

'I'm coming, don't worry. – SH'

"Miss Moriarty, what a lovely name (settles on the tongue like honey), I however do not allow cellphones in my classroom. Put it away like a good girl, before I tell your teacher (the one tied up in the closet) what a bad student you're being."

He had the nerve to wag his finger at me like I was naughty pet (to Mr. Hyde I was just that), but I wasn't about to cause a scene and slipped the phone back in my pocket.

(praying that I'd given Sherlock enough time to swoop in for a last minute rescue)

"That's a good girl."

The other students, who took in my wardrobe choices with wide eyes when Jim called attention to me (and my wonderful name), found Moriarty's way of subsisting quite amusing.

They didn't understand the threat that he held, instead they saw him as some oddball that might not give homework, while I knew that everyone was in danger.

(most of all me, the star student in his eyes)

He went on with the lesson plan like any other substitute would, making sure to wink at me randomly throughout the entire lesson (making my head hit my desk a number of times), until the fire alarm interpreted his Tempest monologue.

(sadly for me this was not the first time I'd heard him read Shakespeare, he does love to be dramatic)

"Oh too bad, it looks like the building is burning down, turning to ash rather quickly. You so very cute (and bloody ordinary) college students should probably run before you catch fire and burn alive."

I was nearly trampled by those cute students trying to get to the door first, short legs do not help you outrun psychopaths (I've learned that many times), and as I fell to the ground only one hand offered to help me up.

Of course the rest of the class had already gotten to safety, not one person looking back to check if I was coming (or being taken bloody hostage), so that hand belonged to Moriarty.

"Expect you, darling, I need to see you after class."

I pushed his hand away and went to get up on my own, but Jim grabbed me by my waist and pulled me up before I had the chance.

(frightened at how easily he could throw me about)

"Did you set my bloody college on fire, Jim?"

I didn't let him phase me, removing his slender fingers off my waist one by one (while he enjoyed every bit), and spoke to him like he was still my uncle.

And not a consulting criminal (and homicidal psychopath) who's favorite pass time is messing with my head.

"Maybe. You'll have to come with me to find out."

He did a little skip, reminding me of all those times he had been my dance partner (sometimes a classical number but mostly disco), and waved me over to the door.

(the smoke billowing in was rather frightening)

"I'd rather burn, than go with you, Moriarty."

It wasn't a total lie because he was blocking the only way out, standing before me like some creature (making me search once again for the man inside) from the darkness, and I wasn't about to let him catch me.

If I let him wrap his arms around me he might never let me free, dragging me back the world he created for the two of us (two dark halves together in a horrific dance) that paralyzing fear and haunting love would be back to stay.

(a song bird, one that finally found her voice, locked back up her pitch black cage)

"Oh, very interesting, Sherlock has done a brilliant job of turning you against you, hasn't he?"

I saw that horrible sadness once again, a spark of the real Jim shining through the one I would be proud to call my uncle (like a hostage watching as he did horrific things to those he loves), and in a second it was pushed away.

"This is all me, Jim, I just got sick of being your punching bag. Being your playthings has grown so deadly boring."

Just seeing it brought back some form of hope for him, that I would get the chance to pull him from the cliff (and this love wouldn't be a lost cause) and he would come become the man I loved.

(putting Mr. Hyde in his place once and for all)

But until that wonderful day, the one that seemed like a fairy tale (the day he wasn't the ultimate villain), I would have to keep running from this creature taking him over.

"Don't make me drag you out, willow tree; you know how much I'd enjoy that."

Rather than waiting for him to act on his threats (his were never empty) I ran for the door hoping I could disappear in the crowd of students but I wasn't quick enough.

He locked his hands on my waist, and instead of just pulling me along by the ear like a naughty child, he swung me over his shoulder.

(and this was not the first time either)

"I did warn you, treasure."

* * *

"Come along, pet, daddy has some business to take care of. I doubt they'd mind if a scrumptious thing like you tagged along (and it might even keep me from skinning their sorry hides)."

In these many years I let myself be pulled along (like the good girl he thought I was), knowing that he would lead me into wondrous things and I should be nothing but grateful (even if I woke the monster).

However sometimes he would bring me to dangerous places ('this is where the darkness thrives, pet, and were we are most at home') just to cure his boredom or because his job made him.

(using his genius in all of the wrong ways)

"But it's in a bar, Uncle."

Dressed up like his own personal doll, Westwood head to toe and sparkling darkness in every single pore (all for _him_), but still a wide eyed innocent in almost every way.

(growing older with each life lost in those fun games where we would never get our hands dirty, just our souls)

"So, you've been to worse. Frightened, treasure?"

I was his favorite past time, showing me the world (and stripping away the parts of it without him) and watching me either fill up with wonderment or terror, and no place was off limits.

(and my blacked lips belonged to him alone)

And this naive child, who believed he could battle the darkness (the same one in her blood) and prevail, ate up everything he said like honey.

"Not at all, Jim, I am however a sixteen year old girl and I don't believe I'm allowed in."

Back then I could match his smile like a mirror (he was all my eyes could see), the monster was starting to come out slowly and I had the true man to myself.

(the one I wish I could call back)

"Power makes a lot of impossible things possible (like the red sea opening for just us), and my name holds tremendous power."

During our play dates I saw the reaction his name brought, they would whisper it like it might bring the terrifying man down upon them (and he would make their children no longer beautiful), and it was able to open every door in a second.

(the same awe Sherlock gets but it brings hope instead of dread)

"One pint for me my dear, and for the lady, most likely a girly drink, right, Wil?"

I tried to make myself like I wasn't still a slip of girl (who was always shoved into shocking situations without a net) whose hands were shaking, trying to not be '_ordinary'_ under his watchful eyes.

(so he would not shake my hands free and find someone less boring)

"Ummm…a pint for me, as well, thanks."

Looking up to figure out if I had made my teacher proud, or if I needed another lessons on how to be cleaver (no niece of his would be ordinary), and let my heart start to beat again when he smiled.

(Mr. Hyde wouldn't come with biting words and punishment in his mind)

"That's my girl. Now, stay here while daddy handles his business."

I cleared my mind of all the wrong things he was off to do, a few of them I had been forced to watch ('character building, willow tree, no closing those beautiful eyes anymore'), and watched as he pulled himself up on the top of the bar.

"Attention all, you know me just by one name, Moriarty, and that name should be causing you to quake in your knockoff footwear, good. If anyone lays even a finger on her, I'll gut them like the pig that they are. Hope you all are having a pleasant night."

(his smile turning into something that would keep children up at night)

"That was rather severe."

He grabbed my hand once more but this time, instead of dragging me off to yet another either lovely or exiting location (or alleyways to hide from Sherlock), to place a kiss on it.

(the one kiss that I knew for certain came from my Jim, and only one I invited)

"You my dear are too precious for nothing less, treasure."

* * *

"Can you please take off this bloody blindfold, Jim?"

He had literally taken me into the darkness by trying to keep me from figuring out where ('our romantic destination awaits us, my dear') he was going to lock me up.

(but I could pretty much tell by the citrus scent which hotel he was stowing me away in)

"Patience, Kitten, I know you (or have you forgotten that?) too well and showing you the way would spoil all the fun. I'd hate to have you scurry off when daddy isn't watching."

It's hard to have any sort of conversation (while I'm dying to be out of the darkness) while I'm slung across his back like a sack, a pair of fingers sneaking up to tickle my belly every now and then.

(glad that I had a new love who didn't resort to this)

"Yes, because being kidnapped is oh so much fun (well, maybe a bit)."

I kick my feet trying to knock out his legs but thanks to my blindness I end up barely grazing him, and the only thing that happens is him laughing about how adorable I am.

(I can feel that damn laugh through my entire body)

He finally drops me down, surprising me by how gentle he is as he lays me on the bed (and that paralyzing fear starts up when I feel the satin underneath me), and thankfully removes that hateful blindfold.

"Welcome to our temporary home, I know it isn't much but it will have to do. That is until I fix up our place (where you said 'I love you' in countless times) and you can finally come home."

Suddenly I'm wishing for blindness so I don't have to see all that he's done for me, or that the old Jim (the one only Jim I once said 'I love you' to) is starting to break through his cage.

"Why are you doing this, Jim?"

Every piece of this room reminds me of those few years I had with him (My Jim who I'm starting to see again), of that place where all my fears melted away and where I was safe in his arms.

Seeing it all brings back the pain, the one that nearly bleed me dry the last time (as I finally accepted he was gone), and it doesn't hurt any less.

"I didn't want to come to this, willow tree, but a life without you sounds horribly ordinary (and heartbreaking)."

Instead of finding myself once again locked in darkness what I found was a home (one that I believed was long lost), he had created just for the two of his.

(whispering like school children in our safe haven)

My hands went automatically to the damn bear, the moment I laid my eyes on it I knew it was the original one that he had placed in my arms years ago, and hugged it to my chest.

('This is me, pet, when your frightened just hug it to your heart and I'll come rescue you. And that is a promise I will never break, willow tree.')

"I'm horribly screwed."


	7. A Date With the Devil

"Do you know who my real family is, Jim?"

Being alone with him for the first time in nearly a year (still feeling the pain from his last visit), and this time not in a deadly situation with lives in the balance, helps me find my voice again.

(the one that talks to him like he's still my sun and stars)

"In fact I do, and I'll tell you all about your lineage over dinner. Your dress is on the bed, the very one we used to sit upon and watch the stars together, and I'll expect you at nine."

He throws a quick hand motion to my bed, eyes going to the ground for a spilt second in embarrassment (and I swear his cheeks flushed as well), where a gown straight out of a fairy tale is draped.

(and I knew that the tag will read Westwood)

"Off to create chaos for all the ordinary people, Jim?"

I pick up that dress (the one that is darkness divine) trying to pretend that it's nothing special, but it screams at me in every single way from the delicate black lace to the black water pearls lining the neck.

It was hard to resist the urge to put the dress on right then and there, but stripping in front of Jim might give him the wrong idea, or cause me to have it as well.

(or it might bring Mr. Hyde out and no one wants that)

Without knowing it I was falling back into my teasing way with him, our banter was one thing those who feared him would love to talk about ('it was kind of cute in a scary way.'), and it was frightening how easy it was.

(even when I still had his hand prints fading from my throat)

"It's what I was born to do, Willow, you of all people should know that."

* * *

"I wish that I didn't have to leave you, Uncle, and go back to _them_."

Uncle Jim, who was spending his day off (and he rarely ever gets one of those) with his niece like it was the best day of his life, was the only one I knew who had a bed in his back yard.

(all because of me and my love of stars)

"I wish that every single time you leave me, pet, but I have to wait until I can finally steal you away for good."

Back then I would dream of the day when he would finally come and take me away, so I could spend my days seeing wondrous things by his side (and I could handle his monster side for the chance).

Wanting a way out of my lackluster life, the only excitement came from shocking the world with my clothes (shining with thick and delightful darkness), and being the miraculous invisible girl.

(mother and father couldn't see me at all, nor did they care to)

"Why can't I just stay with you now, Jim?"

Deep down I was hoping that he would do some magic (use the power of his name for me) to take me away from this unbearable existence but around him I knew to choose my words carefully.

(or they could end up taken _care_ of)

"Because those (horribly fake) parents of yours still own (however I doubt they wouldn't resort to selling you) you, even though they don't really take care of you. Taking you without asking or proper payment would call attention to myself. Do you want me to fall, pet, right before I make my name?"

The various enemies Moriarty has acquired over the years, the people he's competing against and all the families he's destroyed would love to hurt him in all the same ways, wanted way at him and I was just that.

"Of course not, I can wait for the day I totally because invisible to mother and father, and can slip off with you."

* * *

The moment I knew he was gone, and his incompetent guards were napping on the job (with one eye open so their boss wouldn't skin them in their sleep), I found a phone and called the first number in my head.

(hoping to god that I would get to hear his voice before I was sucked back into the darkness)

"Hello?"

It was just the voice that I wanted to hear, the one that could always calm my nerves (even if I was in a life or death situation) and put me back at ease, and I nearly lost myself in it.

(trying to remember a time when Jim's voice did the very same thing, now all it brings is fear)

"Sherlock, listen closely I don't have much time before he gets back. I believe he has me in the Landmark hotel, but that's all I know. I-I love you."

I let those deadly little words come spilling out, the fear of never seeing him again (or kissing those lips to quiet him up), and held my breath waiting for him to strike down my heart.

(he wasn't about to suddenly grow a heart over night because of some little girl with doe eyes)

"I-I care for you as well, and I will find you, Willow, you can count on me."

The tears came (ones filled to the brim with relief) glad that I didn't ruin it all by uttering those three words full of so much damn feeling (and each one filled with truth), knowing that this was as close to 'I love you' I would ever get from him.

(glad that my heart hadn't been finished off)

"What are you doing?"

I had the phone hidden by the time the guards did the daily checkup, but those nasty tears were still coming and I was having a hard time finding an off switch.

(waiting until they finally dried up for good)

When I laid my eyes on my guard it was easy to tell that Moriarty has him wrapped around his finger, but not with loyalty but with his favorite weapon, fear.

(showing you pictures of those you love and telling you just how painful their deaths will be)

"Crying my teen girl eyes out, something I'd rather do alone. You can go; I'll make sure he doesn't touch those beautiful children of yours."

Back then as Jim's right hand, matching his grin and Westwood attire (but never matching his Mr. Hyde personality), I was there to make sure he never went over that cliff.

(and he was always one step away)

"T-Thank you, Miss."

* * *

"You look marvelous, treasure-I mean pet, perfect."

For a second I can see Mr. Hyde wanting to come out and make me play a game with him, his eyes looking at me in all of my spender (his favorite dark kind), but shockingly Jim shakes him off.

(and I can breathe again, the terror fading from my eyes)

"T-thank you, Jim."

I join him for dinner (something I've done a million times but now it's awkward) dressed like a princess (Persephone's wedding gown in all its horror) ready for a ball but it can never feel the same as before.

(when I would gladly take his hand and join him in the first dance of the night)

The table filled to the brim, as he makes sure to place me as close to him as possible (while my eyes locate all the exits), with everything from our past like it's haunting me.

(knowing that it can never be the same, even if I still love the taste of dark chocolate)

"Where is my real family, Jim?"

In this (not at all ordinary) hostage situation, which comes with stunning gowns and roasted duck (yet I'd still rather have John's meals), I manage to push the fear down in the pursuit of answers.

(hoping it would lead me down a road that wasn't filled with indifference)

"Would it mean so much to you to know where the (stupidly ordinary) people who gave you up are, pet?"

I knew that I shouldn't want to meet people that threw me away like a piece of trash, handing me off to the worst possible people (and landed me in this whole mess) but I couldn't stop until I knew.

"It would mean to the world to me."

(like my love would mean the world to you)

"Here if I ever let you leave this place (and there is very slim chance of that) you can have a family reunion."

He placed a piece of paper in my hands, making sure to run his hand over mine (eyes looking way too closely at my dress, more the top part) already prepared for the day I came asking questionings.

(and he was the only one who was willing to give me answers)

"Thank you so much, Jim."

I made the mistake of letting that smile slip, the one from my childhood that was reserved for him (and the one he ended up slapping away) and I took his hand in mine.

(pulling it away when Mr. Hyde flashed in his eyes)

"I love you, Willow, so goddamn much. And seeing how much you've grown to despise me, rightly so, is killing me."

Before I can take everything in, waiting for this all to fade away and be replaced by the devil's ball (and he'll make me dance until I drop), he utters those horrible words.

(those three words that have no meaning with him anymore)

"Jim. Please don't."

I can't bring myself to look at him, trying to find those left over feelings and coming up empty handed (everything has finally traveled over to Sherlock), as his eyes start to run with each word.

(tears that will not cease until I utter those words back, so they will be on tap forever)

"How can I get you back, my willow tree? I don't know what I'll do without you by my side, you were my only one, you _are_ my one and only."

He grabs at me this time taking my hands instead of my throat, proving that it isn't Mr. Hyde in disguise (the one who will say those words and kill in same moment), bringing them to his heart.

"You can't get me back, Jim, you lost it all the moment you wrapped your fingers around my throat (and my heart). I wish it was different, but nothing can bring that part of me back, Moriarty."

Each word hurts him but needs to be said, so this all can finally come to an end (even if the end isn't a happy one) and I'm not spending my life running from this fairy-tale villain.

(the character who can make you love him and hate him at the same time)

"Call me uncle, I miss it so much."

It's quite a sight as he wraps me up in his arms, it looks like the devil is stealing away this scared little girl for his bride (both of us pitch black head to toe), and it makes Mr. Hyde want to come out to play.

(dying to be the one hugging me)

"Run, pet, run before I end up hurting you."

It hurts to see him like this, trying so hard to keep control (and doing it for me) so I have the chance to escape before those hands come for me.

"No, don't let him win, take control. I know you Jim Moriarty, and you do not give up."

I wanted this to be the same as before when I could grab his hands and bring him back from the darkness, (sometimes failing and those hands would come anyway) , but this time he was too far gone to rescue.

"Alas, I know when I am beaten, now go, I can only hold it off for a moment."

It broke my heart, the one that he had done quite a number on (when I barely knew what the thing was used for), to see him like this and that I could do nothing for him.

(expect stay with him as he struggled)

"I did love you once, Jim, and I will not let you fall this way."

I feel like I'm that child again, with moon eyes for the villain of the story (trying to turn him into the hero) despise the wounds that come with it, waiting to be punished for caring too much.

"Do you really believe you can help me, treasure? No one can, not even the one person in the whole goddamn world that I love can save me now."

It was clear that he was losing the battle, hearing him call me treasure sent a shiver up my spine (knowing what always follows that hateful word), and he was slipping further into darkness.

"I won't let you give up so damn easily, Jim, please, stay strong, for me."

A part of me wants to run and leave him to face it by himself (run back to Sherlock) but the other one can't, those pesky feelings still carrying over from childhood (and all those good memories he gave me) they keep me by his side.

(even though I know it will end bloody)

"I wish it was easy, pet. _Please_ run now, before I hurt you!"

I watched as he changed before my eyes, that horrible darkness taking over, and that inhuman grin (once again the villain of the story) turning his whole face into a terrifying sight.

(and I was a child again afraid of the boogeyman with a too familiar face)

"Want to play a game, treasure?"

My chance of escaping is lost as he backs me into the corner, he is replaced and I stare into the eyes of my nightmare, and his grin grows as he wraps his hands around my neck.

(Mr. Hyde getting ready to play his favorite game and this time Jim isn't here to stop it)

"I-I'm not leaving…you this time."

I try to pull him back, my voice broken up because his fingertips are pressing on my vocal cords (each struggle for breath exciting Hyde), but I can't help him when I'm fighting to stay alive myself.

"As if I'd ever let you free, treasure, life is so boring without my toys."

This time Jim isn't here to come out at that last breath to save the day, keep Mr. Hyde from finally finishing the game and darkness comes to take me with it.

"Uncle…"

(good thing I'm wearing the perfect dress to meet death)

"Oh god! What have I done?"

* * *

-Sherlock:

"Moriarty? Tell me where she is right now!"

I pulled him up by his collar, silently wishing that I had pushed him over the edge last time (so none of this would have happened to her), keeping my hands away from his throat afraid of what I might do.

(but if I was too late nothing could keep me from finishing this all)

"I let him kill her, Sherlock; I just sat back and let it all come to that horrifying end. I'm not the man she thought I was, I'm weak (_ordinary_), and if you stay after the show you'll get to see me end it all."

At those terrifying words I lost feeling and let him tumble to the ground, he was already falling to pieces (crying over what those horrible hands had done), fearing the worst.

(that I found her only to lose her way too damn soon)

"If you truly hurt her in anyway, or (my god please let this be a game) killed her, I will end you with my own hands, count on that."

The thing I left (dreaming of putting him out of misery once and for all) was half the man Moriarty was, he was slowly crumbling as he sat there looking at the hands that had hurt each one of us, but all I could worry about was her.

I fell to the ground where he had left her, staring at the end of the story that I never wanted (but my now exposed heart was getting ripped to shreds), and the little hope I had drained away.

(and now all I could do was dream up ways to murder him, all of them excruciating)

"Willow!"

Seeing her lifeless body was a hit to the gut but instead of letting my senses fail me I tried so hard to get her heart beating again (putting my head to her chest hopping for the tiniest of signs) and bring air back into her lungs.

(while my own lungs were failing me as I let those never-ending tears take me over)

"I-I love you as well, and that proves that my heart is functioning (even more so for you), so you can't be dead. I won't let this be the end, it's way too ordinary for someone as extraordinary as you, love."

I rested my head on her chest for what felt like the last time (and the last kiss that was a frozen one) but before I could finally weep for her I felt small hands resting on my cheeks.

(ones that felt like a beautiful dream)

"John would be rendered speechless if he heard a word of that Sherlock. We should reenact it just for him."

I was rendered speechless myself something that has only happened a few times in my life (as I said that final goodbye to John), and wrapped my arms around her like I was never going to break free.

(my mouth blocked up with way too many emotions, those damn things might be the end of me)


	8. The Girl Beneath The Mask of Colors

**Bonus Sherlock/Willow moment that doesn't fit in anywhere, a tiny ficlet, hope you enjoy.**

* * *

After playing hostage for the past week when I was back home again, 221B. Baker Street becoming that comforting word (home, something I've had very few of), I went back to my usual ways.

I covered up my pitch black hair with a brilliant shade of blue (John had seen and thought of me), taking away the piece of me that Moriarty had loved the most, and it turned me into a new kind of creature once again.

(everything was the same expect for Sherlock who couldn't keep his eyes off me and my dyed locks)

By now Sherlock was used to my addiction, turning myself into a walking art piece (the only thing that stayed the same was my eyes) taking on a new identify with each color, but this time he missed the girl he caught a quick glimpse of.

(the one that was a hundred percent herself with no added ingredients)

"I wish you would stop trying to change, Willow. I fancy you as you are, and I adore that original black hair of yours. I wouldn't hate seeing more of it."

Letting him into my personal space, a place that very few have had a chance to enter (before I ran in the opposite direction) seemed right as he grabbed a piece of my cotton candy hair and hit me with that disapproving glance.

(wanting me to look like the girl he said those three words to on her death bed)

Stripping away my mask of rainbow colors and harlequin make-up was easy but the hardest part was standing before him as me and nothing else.

Trying to be the girl I once was, before I took on this persona to scrub Moriarty from my veins (turn everything he loved about me into ash), with no secrets to hide beneath my skin.

(bare skin and no mask to hide my flaws)

"Better?"

I felt exposed, showing him everything I had desperately tried to hide over the years (using the darkness to hide away the girl underneath), but I knew that he was only one who would get to see me like this.

Slipping out of my defenses, no longer hiding what _he _(and Mr. Hyde) had loved about me because of the heavy guilt (that one day these hands would be doing the same dark things), seemed so easy when I was with him.

(my cheeks still growing red when I think of those three words coming out of his indifferent lips)

"It's brilliant, Willow. You have no need to hide anything when you're with me."

I let him tug on my hair (never truly seeing the beauty in it until now); trying to push out all of those memories of Jim doing the exact same thing and calling me his girl, as I finally brought back the original for the first time in years.

(rubbing away the darkness with whimsical colors to escape from his horrifying expectations)

"Now we match even more, Holmes."

Before I could tug on his own black locks, something I've been dying to do since the day he stormed though my doors (making me the first to see him very much breathing), he grabbed my hands and pulled me in.

Kissing my bare lips, making sure to kiss my make-up free face all over (to show how much he approves of the change), for the first time since he believed I was dead and gave me a snow white kiss goodbye.

(and I opened my eyes to his sweet lips and those permanent and thrilling three magical words)


	9. Trying to Go Back to Normal and Failing

"I doubt a simple cup of tea will cheer you up after nearly dying, Willow, but it was all I could think to do."

The moment I came back, to this place that feels like home now (replacing the dark with light), I had a cup of tea placed in my waiting hands and very comfy John to welcome me back.

(if you've had the pleasure of hugging him you'd know why I call him comfy)

"No, it's just what I wanted, John, thank you."

I set the tea down and let John give me the hug he had been waiting patiently to give me, a I'm glad that you're very much alive super hug (that was filled with so much warmth it made up for the days of cold).

"I missed you, too, John."

He then went on to make me the best breakfast I'd ever had in my whole life, even when I lived with parents that always had to have the best (and made me do the same), because it was made from the heart.

(and of course there was smiling pancakes to bring out my own)

* * *

"This place seemed empty without you, Willow, and I never want that feeling to come back."

Sherlock was having a hard time going back to normal, my lifeless body still fresh in his mind (and those three little words clinging to his tongue), and leaving me alone was something he was not about to do.

(afraid death would come back to claim me)

"And I don't plan on leaving for a while, not after all of this."

Since I nearly took my last breath, Jim's hands stealing them away one by one (killing me without getting his hands bloody), I've had Sherlock at my side like a second shadow and never been so horribly sick of handholding.

(those hands of his have been attached to mine for over twenty-four hours and I doubt their going to loosen anytime soon)

"It does help that your college went up in flames, but you know that you'll have to go out someday."

It was easy to tell that we were both dreading that day, when I had to go out and face the world (once my bloody college was finally rebuilt, damn Jim), when I had to leave the comfort of Baker Street.

(and those lovely cups of tea John can make appear out of thin air)

"Yes, and I'll be ready to face the world when that day comes, Sherlock."

I tried so hard to come off as somewhat brave, but it seemed that I had used up most of it during my final face off with Mr. Hyde (finally facing my nightmare man and almost dying because of it).

(and I was having a hard time coming up with any more)

"I'll be there to face it with you, Willow, because there is no way I'm letting you out of sight."

I could see from the way he was acting, besides those hands that couldn't bear to leave me (afraid I would shatter without support), that there was a case that was fogging up his head.

(and it wouldn't be long before the withdrawal started and hopefully no weapons were around or the wall would be screwed)

"Go back to work, Sherlock. I can tell that you have a case eating at you and pathetic me shouldn't stop you."

Even when I tried so damn hard to be strong, not letting my eyes fog over with those uncontrollable feelings from last night (which for a moment I saw as my last), it was all for nothing but at least I had Sherlock to bring me back from the edge.

(making the pain recede for a while with his warm smile)

"The way that you finally stood up to him was beyond brave, willow tree, and it might have brought an end to this horrible situation. You were utterly brilliant."

I watched him go back to his life, filling up his mind with case after case that he wouldn't have a problem cracking (so he could forget about his heart the only unsolvable puzzle), while my own life was coming to a halt.

(the only moving thing was my heartbeat when I thought of Holmes and those life changing words)

* * *

"Who is that?"

Instead of looking at the stars like we did every night, hands locked together as we spoke about how _dreadfully_ ordinary everyone was (most of all mother and father), we were staring up at a picture of a man.

Every last bit of information about his new target was plastered on the walls, along with pictures of us (dressed in sweet darkness, a pair), and the moment I saw it I knew that something horrible was going to happen.

(and I didn't want to sit back and watch as Jim ripped apart this poor man)

"_Sherlock Holmes_. He's my new project, the very person who could ruin me with his brilliant mind."

He spoke about him with loathing and awe, making it quite clear that this was not just another target but something different (it was like some messed up version of love), and how extraordinary he was.

(Sherlock became the first person besides me that he didn't call _ordinary_)

"Are you going to hurt him, Uncle?"

There was something wrong glittering in his eyes when he said that name, a name I would hear for months to come until the final curtain finally came crashing down (and he beat him with his mind alone), and it terrified me.

(the skill of reading a man like Jim isn't something I'm proud of)

"Don't trouble yourself with things like that, willow tree, it doesn't involve you."

As he tried to sound like a scolding father (but father's don't kiss daughters that way), pretending to be the dutiful uncle and not the monster, there was still an edge to his voice that gave me a deadly warning.

(Mr. Hyde hiding underneath threating to come out and punish me for being nosy)

"Uncle, did you have anything to do with Aaron disappearing?"

Rather than backing off like I normally do, afraid that he would turn into the black eyed demon and nearly squeeze the life out of me, I had a moment of bravery.

Asking that horrible question that has been in my mind for days, on the tip of my tongue as he dressed me up like a doll and showed me off, when I kissed Aaron goodbye and never saw him again.

(love had already started to bloom even though I knew just how dangerous that could be)

I regretted that damn bravery the moment the words left my mouth, eyes locked on his waiting for his reaction (wondering if this time he'll finish it), as he pulled me in and locked me in his arms.

(knowing one day that it will be prison until the end)

"Of course I did, treasure, no one can have you but me. You're mine; do you understand that, pet?"

His whispers (usually threats or ones of love) sent a chill as I tried not to imagine what became of my childhood sweetheart (that was everything pure) under his wicked hands.

(knowing that it was my lips that brought this upon him)

"Y-Yes, of course, Uncle, I understand (and I'm petrified out of my bloody mind)."

* * *

"Another nightmare, Willow?"

Instead of waking to horrible darkness, either terribly alone or with murderous arms locked around me like a clingy child (never wanting to let me free), I had Sherlock there to chase away the demons.

(and the reassuring feeling that he would the same for me in real life)

"After what I've been through the damn things won't stop coming. But the more important question is when did you sneak in here, Sherlock?"

I had left him to his stack of cases, everyone coming to the greatest detective of all time (who beat the criminal mastermind), slipping into the chilling hands of my nightmares and somehow during the night he had locked his warm hands around me.

(and he was having a hard time unlocking them)

"I couldn't help myself, Wil, it's hard to not be with you after you nearly died on me.'"

He was having a hard time admitting why he wanted to keep hold of me (even abandoning a case until morning to do so, shocking) but in the end the truth came out.

(that heart of his was growing so much bigger each day and he could barely handle it)

"So be with me, Sherlock, until you grow utterly sick of the very sight of me."

I pulled him closer, glad to have something so warm and right to chase away the lingering darkness from Jim (each dream filled with his smirking face coming to finish it), kissing his lips like a woman dying of thirst.

(and he was a man dying of hunger, a perfect match)

"I highly doubt that will ever happen."

* * *

"Can I have this dance, pet?"

With him each day was like a fairy tale, both the whimsical parts and the terrifying ones, and the dancing was my favorite part of the story.

(some days he would be my prince and others he would be the big bad wolf come to eat me up)

Even girls who prefer the darkness, my gown expressed that brilliantly because it was every shade of black (matching my pitch black hair) and I was his match in every way; love to play the part of the princess.

"I would love to, Jim."

It was like we were putting on a show for the whole room, as he spun me around making my black lace bottom seem like it was flying, as we did our dance every part of us decked out in black.

(it was like Hades and Persephone throwing a ball and enjoying every moment of it)

"Call me, Uncle, pet, you know how much I love being called that."

Once I made the mistake of calling him Mr. Hyde, that secret name that I call his dark side that so enjoys playing with my mind (and ruining my body), and it brought him out grin and all. So, trust me I will never made that mistake ever again.

(I fall into line like a good girl and call him my blood)

"Sorry, Uncle, I'll make sure to remember that."

I checked him for signs of anger, wondering if one single word would bring out the darkness (and my ball would be ruined), only breathing again when I saw that Jim was still very much holding my gloved hands.

(still playing the prince for the night instead of the villain)

"This day is for you, Willow, and I hope that you'll never forget it."

* * *

I woke from yet another nightmare, filled with _his _hands stealing my last breath and giving our story a horrible (and predictable) end, but this time I was face to face with the subject of them.

(instead of a comforting Sherlock to settle me I got a Moriarty here to end me)

"Have you come to finish the job, Uncle?"

His hands were reaching out to me, sending me either further into myself (wishing I had that bravery from yesterday to keep me safe), but when he saw the terror they invoked he backed off.

(letting me catch a glimpse of Jim who was back in control)

"I'm leaving, pet, and I just wanted to say goodbye. And if saying I'm sorry could fix everything (but I know it won't) I would say that as well."

I wanted to believe that this moment was the last time I would see him (and have this paralyzing fear running through my veins), and that I was relieved that everything was finally ending, but I knew that he always come for me.

(to rip away what little stably had left)

"Remember me like this, willow tree, because I cannot bear the thought of you hating me (even if you should hate me in every single way). Ciao, my dark princess, I hope he gives you everything I couldn't."

I tried to bring myself to say those hateful words (the opposite of what Sherlock had whispered in my dead ears), hoping they would drive him even further away, but I couldn't form them.

(because there still was a spark, fading each time he locked his hands around my neck, a tiny one but still something)

"He already has, Jim."

My words took a jab at his heart, the one I had believed was pitch black but later found out there was only one bit of pink to it (me, his only weakness), and before he left for good he placed one last kiss on my forehead.

(bringing those childish feelings roaring back)

"I wish it had played out differently uncle, I do."


End file.
